Wings of a Fallen Angel
by Excellently-Elementary
Summary: Spencer Reid has been missing for seven months. Seven months ago, a pysocopath took him away from the team, leaving them heartbroken. But when another victim has been taken, can they get Reid back? Wings, hybrids, and other mutants involved. NO SLASH.
1. Prologue: A New Angel

**A/N: Greetings, readers! This is an idea I have been working on for awhile. This is just the prologue, and things may seem confusing, but it's my job as a writer to confuse you! And then I'll make it make sense, 'cuz if I didn't it wouldn't be very nice. . and. Uh, yeah. UHM, this is actually going to be like a series. This is just the prologue, and after I update my other stories, I may post another update tonight. So, uh, thanks for reading!**

**Warnings: Violent and major whumpage ahead! I may have to change the rating later. I'm still new to this whole thing.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

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_**'Evil is the shadow of angel. Just as there are angels of light, support, guidance, healing and defense, so we have experiences of shadow angels.  
****And we have names for them: racism, sexism, homophobia are all demons - but they're not out there.'  
~Matthew Fox**_

Dr. Spencer Reid can tell you the exact definition of the word pain. He can easily tell you quotes about the subject off of the top of his eidetic memory.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't describe this pain he was feeling.

The definition of said term is physical suffering or discomfort caused by illness or injury. Feeling the needles inject into his back, the blood slide down his legs, the scream escaping his lips against his will, he could conclude he was in pain. _Immense_ pain.

But it was such an indescribable pain; it was everywhere. His legs, his spine, his torso, his back. It vibrated through his entire body, blocking his thoughts and seizing his lungs.

Blood dripped onto the concrete floor below him, and he could vaguely feel the needles extract from his injured back.

"Very good. You're almost done, Spencer. One more minute and you can rest," The man's voice was gruff and old, like a comforting grandparent's. But nothing_ what-so-ever _was comforting about this man or his 'basement' or the needles that constantly pierced his sensitive skin.

Spencer whimpered and weakly dropped his head to his bare chest.

The man smirked and walked slowly in front of him, putting his hands behind his back and admiring the progress he was making with this new subject. He had chained his hands above his head with the rusty shackles he had used on so many before him. Although his new companion was a little over six feet, the younger man's legs didn't reach the floor and his curly, brown hair was soaked with sweat.

He circled Spencer, staring at his back in awe.

He laughed a giddy, excited laughed and nearly bounced up and down with joy.

A small pair of wings had spread across his back, the delicate feathers soaking up some of the blood still staining the pale skin.

Practically sprinting, the man easily reached up and grabbed the smaller man's legs. He then reached inside his pocket, revealing a silver key, and freed him of his restrains. The man gently eased him down, being mindful of the injuries, and duck-taped his hands together.

Spencer had only let out the occasional groan, barely conscious anymore; the world seemed to be spinning and growing dimmer by the second.

Checking to make sure his captive would not escape, he walked to the far right side of the room and grabbed a cardboard box containing medical supplies.

He didn't want his Angel to bleed out, now did he?

He wasn't even sure if he wanted to harm the young man he had in his clutches; Spencer seemed kind and innocent, but that only sealed his fate. He was perfect for this experiment. Absolutely perfect.

Which meant he _had _to do this. It was his _job_ to do this. His _purpose_ in life.

He swiftly patched up the man, and decided to examine the wings.

They rested on his shoulder blades and lifted up slightly, maybe ten inches long.

He reached out and gently stroked the small feathers, becoming mesmerized in the snow-like color. Cartilage could be felt underneath, and he laughed once more. He was successful this time. And it only took him eighty-seven tries to get it right.

Spencer had passed out, and he simply continued touching the feathers, feeling the softness under his hand and rubbed them between his finger tips.

He smiled, finally stood up, and ascended the wooden stairs.

The man admired his creation once more, before closing the door and whispering, "Goodnight, Zaccheus."

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**Ooh. Spooky. Zaccheus is a Greek name meaning "Innocence". It sounded kinda' angelish to me. **

**Thank-you for reading and reviews are greatly appreciated! **


	2. Chapter One: Missing You

**A/N; Good afternoon, folks! I have not updated this story in awhile, because I was kind-of busy. But I have not stopped updating! I'm just working on my other stories at the moment, and I'm debating on deleting "My Dysfunctional Family" and re-writing it in a couple of weeks. Let me know if I should or not. I'm still not sure about the rating on this story. *Strokes imaginary beard*. Uhm, anyway, enjoy!**

**Warnings FTC (For This Chapter): Mentions of attempted suicide, mentions of murder, and mentions of kidnapping. There are no pairings or Slash! Do not like, do not read.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds. Or _It's a Wonderful Life_. Or the FBI. But _It's a Wonderful Life_ is a great Christmas movie. And The FBI was founded by Edward A. Bachelor, and is still run by the Bachelor family. In fact, Edward's son, Barry Bachelor, is the CEO. And Criminal Minds belongs to CBS. So. Uhm. I don't own them. So, uh, yeah. . . **

**This chapter is taken place, like, five or six months after Reid was experimented on in the earlier chapter. Because it took a long time for him to grow wings. Also, it's focused on the team's reactions to him being missing. Just some information so there is no confusion.**

**OKAY ENJOY.~**

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_**The days are cold living without you/The nights are long I'm growing older/**_

_**I miss the days of old thinking about you/ You may be gone but, you're never over**_.

_** Eminem: You're Never Over**_

Penelope Garcia stepped out of the elevators, her white heels clacking against the floor as she went. The outfit she had worn today was one she would have never worn six- _seven_, she silently corrected herself- months ago.

The white skirt rested just above her knee, looking comfortable yet professional. The purple blouse she was wearing was very stylish, but not very Garcia-ish.

The only remnants that remained of Penelope Garcia were the light blonde highlights she had put in her hair after she dyed it a dark brown and the pink, beaded necklace that hung loosely around her neck.

Not that anyone would blame her for slightly altering her wardrobe. There was nothing to be happy for anymore. Nothing to smile for, nothing to dance for, nothing to laugh for. So why should she? And why should she deceive others with her perky clothes that the world was, in fact, a good place when it clearly wasn't?

She walked past Prentiss' desk, smiling sadly at the obviously exhausted woman. The black rings around her eyes almost matched her raven hair color, and the long-sleeves of her shirt were pushed up to her elbows.

Prentiss was frantically writing, probably trying to finish up the reports no one really bothered to do anymore. But since she had just joined the team five months ago, she was still intimidated by Strauss. Everyone was, at first.

But Garcia knew their scary Section Chief was not the main reason for her hastiness; the raven-haired profiler and Derek Morgan always got together at one of their desks after they were done with their work to discuss the case that took away their resident genius.

Prentiss was already a great profiler, and with a fresh set of eyes, she and Morgan were doing a fabulous job dissecting the kidnaping.

But they still had not gotten any closer to finding Reid.

"Morning, Em," Garcia greeted, trying to pull off a genuine smile. It didn't work.

"Hey, Garcia," she whispered back, not looking away from her work.

Garcia sighed sadly before patting her shoulder.

Approaching Morgan's desk, she gave him a slight wave when he looked up.

"Good morning, Princess," Morgan said, also failing at trying to produce a smile.

"I'll show you a good morning, Hot Stuff," she replied, silently screaming in her head.

The usual flirty jokes and nicknames had not been the same without someone to look at her, completely baffled that she actually talked like that, or someone to blush awkwardly before running out of the room.

She practically sprinted up the stairs into her office, not wanting anyone to see the tears welling up in her eyes.

It had been seven months. It was time to let him go. It was time to move on.

But she couldn't stop thinking about him; he was everywhere, her thoughts, her dreams, on her computer screen as her screen saver. And yet, he was no where to be found.

Sitting down in her office chair, Garcia leaned over and placed her face in her hands and let out a sob.

"Oh, where are you, Spencer?" she whispered, barely audible as the tears ran down her face. Not that anyone- including Reid- was around to hear it.

**xCMxCMxCMxCMxCMx**

Hotch looked up from his work, glancing at the photo he had placed on his desk so many months ago.

His team were all sitting down together in the bullpen near a Christmas tree, examining their presents they had received from their individual secret Santas.

The picture had been taken before Elle got locked up for slicing a young man's throat on the street who resembled Reid a month after he had been kidnaped, and before Gideon had attempted suicide when they thought they found Reid's body, (Hotch had breathed a sigh of relief when the body had not been Reid's.)

Luckily, Hotch had stayed at the office late, and when he heard the loud _thud_, he sprinted into Gideon's office, finding him unconscious with both of his wrists dripping blood. After two months of recovering in the hospital on suicide watch and then getting therapy, the older man came back, appearing confident and strong. But a week after the man returned for his first case, he disappeared without a trace, leaving them nothing but a crappy letter and a phone number to call him if they ever found Reid.

It was a picture of happier times.

Morgan was sitting with his legs out in front of him while Garcia was next to him, the camera capturing the wonderful laugh that had erupted on her face when she looked at Morgan's expression. She had bought him a pair of chaffs, and the poor man's eyebrows shot up to join his forehead when he realized what they were.

He was sitting next to Elle, enjoying the joyful smile she had on her face when he handed her the gift he had picked out. He had got her a six-hour ticket for a nearby spa- one of Haley's favorites. She had been looking a bit worn-out after the last case, and he knew his wife loved spas. Who didn't?

JJ, Gideon, and Reid were all sitting next to each other, Gideon grinning at the look of astonishment on both of his young colleague's faces.

The older man had bought Reid a delicate, glass chess set he knew his protegee would take care of and use often, and Reid had bought JJ a blue, butterfly necklace he caught her gazing longingly at when they both walked to the coffee shop to pick up everyone's orders.

Then an unexpected blizzard had come, but they still had a great time having a 'sleep over.' Garcia had brought out _It's a Wonderful Life _and they all watched as she projected it on the white board they had in the conference room. Everyone had eventually fallen asleep, enjoying each other's company.

Hotch forced himself to tear his eyes away from the photograph, knowing that looking back on old times would not help this situation.

JJ had stepped into his office early, her mascara smudged and running down her cheeks. Her blouse was rumpled, and her eyes were red and puffy. She had been crying. Without a word, she had placed a file delicately on his desk, as if she were afraid it would suddenly burst into flames.

He glanced over it, and shut his eyes.

They had a new case. A new case that wasn't 'new' at all. Hotch had seen this MO before, knew the strange drug they had found in each of the victims, and had already seen similar abduction sites.

Now the dreaded file was sitting opened on his desk, and he was debating with himself about calling the man he needed to right now.

The team had called him many times before, but not with good news. They begged him to come back, to help them find Reid.

And after a month, he completely ignored them, saying he would find out whether or not Reid had come home safely or if his body had been found.

Hotch pinched his nose between his fingers and pulled out a piece of paper, quickly dialing in the number.

When the person finally picked up, he quickly started to talk.

"Gideon, before you hang up-"

"_I don't want to hear from you, Hotch. Or the BAU. Or Strauss, or anybody else. Can't you people just leave me be!" _Gideon yelled, his aged voice sounding angry with a hidden layer of sadness behind it.

"Gideon, listen, I need to talk to yo-"

"_No, Hotch. I will not talk to you. Have a good day,"_

"Jason! You don't have to talk. Just listen. We've got a case," Hotch took a breath, ready to explain further, but Gideon- _once again_- interrupted him.

"When don't you have a case that you need my help with? I told you, I'm not an agent anymore so stop calling my damn phone!" Hotch sensed that the older man was about to disconnect, so he launched into an explanation.

"There have been reported kidnappings in Virginia of young males and females between the ages of twenty and twenty-nine, all turning up dead forty-two hours later. The scenes suggested he attacked them from behind. The first two victims were taken from their homes, the third taken on their way to a grocery store. Megan Crawford, 24, was kidnaped three hours ago. Her brother, Derek, reported her missing when she didn't show up to the restaurant they were meeting up at for diner. Sound familiar?"

Silence.

He pulled the phone back from his ear, checking to make sure that Gideon was still on the line.

"Gideon, you there?"

"_Good-bye, Aaron," _The man's voice sounded choked by either tears or anger. Maybe both.

Hotch sighed and held the phone for a moment, thinking. He wasn't sure what he was thinking about, anymore. Since Reid had gone missing, everyone was falling apart. Like Reid was their glue that held them all together. Which is exactly what they were to each other. A shoulder to lean on or a helping hand.

Shaking his head, Hotch tapped a phone number into his office phone and patiently waited for the man to pick up.

"_Hello?"_

He exhaled, then said softly,

"I need your help."

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**Bum Bum Bum Buuum.**

**I kind-of messed with Elle's and Gideon's story lines. But Elle was technically a murderer, and Gideon looked like he kind-of wanted to commit suicide in season 3. Which is sad. Because I kind-of liked him.**

**PLUS THIS IS FICTION.**

**ImAgInAtIoN~ :)**

**Ooh, and you will see more of Elle and Gideon.**

**Whoever can guess who Hotch called will get a cyber-cookie. And a shout-out. And the satisfaction of knowing who it was.**

**And, uhm.**

***Cracks back* Well, I'm off to upload more stories.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are greatly appreciated!**


	3. Chapter Two: The Flock

**A/N: Thank you so much for all of the positive reviews!**

**I've been pondering Reid's predicament. I didn't want to make this story, like, so utterly boring, so I decided to add some twists and turns and cliffs and not-so-cliffs. _*Rubs hands together evilly.*_ Now, as an "author", I believe I have the power to confuse readers or leave them gasping. Just kidding! But it will be fun when this story picks up. Ooh, so many ideas; so little time!**

**Anyway, thank you for reading and all the reviews and such. Enjoy this chapter!**

**Warnings: Nothing for this chapter. No slash! Just some 'brotherly' love. Don't like, please don't read!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds, or the characters from the show. They are property of CBS. The only thing I own are my Original Characters and this story.**

**P.S.: Shout-out and virtual cookies for an _anonymous_ reviewer, Iridian's Legacy, Nymphadora-CullenBAU, redvines17, and tumbler101 for figuring out who called! Yes. I am that predictable. Rossi will appear in the next chapter, as will the rest of the team.**

**This chapter is all about Reid and his seven months of living with his. . . _flock?_ And, yes, I do love Maximum Ride. Just putting it out there. (:**

**Now, you must pay attention! This is where it starts to get a bit confusing, but most of it will make sense in the next chapter when the team starts working on the case.**

**Enjoy!**

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_**Nothing is More Common on Earth than to Deceive and be Deceived.**_

_**~Johann G. Seume**_

The man smiled, enjoying the feeling of cool, night air on his face. The sky seemed completely at peace, its stars winking back at him. The clouds delicately brushed past his cheek, ruffling his wavy, blonde hair. He wished he could stay up here forever. But he knew Zaci would get disappointed in him. He could handle a sad Zaci; a mad one, even. But a dissappointed Zaci was something you never wanted to cross paths with.

_Ever._

Shaking his head at the thought of the old man he came to love like a father, he titled his head down, focusing on the calm waves beaneath him.

Any minute now. . .

_And_- there it was.

Perched on a small island made of rock sat his home, the one place he loved even more than a starry night sky.

The house was not large, but it wasn't tiny, either.

It was mostly gray; not a nasty gray, though. A delightful gray that would remind a person of a small kitten, or perhaps a glistening moon stone.

The stones twinkled in the moonlight, bringing another smile to his face.

It was two stories high with a large, hidden basement underneath of the house. The wooden roof was a golden brown, and all of the colors of the plants surrounding the house made the magnificent gray seem even more magnificent, if possible.

Zaci never explained to him, or his two brothers, how he got this house, he just had it.

"_A family heirloom," _he recalled the older man saying with a twinkle in his clear, blue eyes.

He shook his head, bringing himself back to the present, and slowly tipped his large wings down, being mindful of the speed he was going at.

Zaci had always nagged him about the speed he flew. _What's the point of having wings if you can't use them?_ He thought, a mischief grin forming on his face.

Decision made, he did a flip in the air, squeezing his body tight so he resembled an arrow, and started to rocket upward.

Only when he reached the top of the general area of the troposphere did he stop and begin to propel himself downward, his arms now gracefully spread to their respectful side.

He laughed, a deep, jolly laugh, that ended up getting caught into the wind. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, the onslaught of air beginning to perplex his vision.

Seeing the rocky ground below, he felt no fear like his older brother. That guy was such a stickler for the rules, always making sure he followed them.

_As if_, he thought dryly, feeling free and youthful as he titled his wings upward and leaned his body back, getting in his landing position.

Now, his younger brother, who he had accepted into their family only a couple months before, was a mix between the two of them.

He was brave and as curious as he was, but he still followed the rules. _Well, some of them,_ he thought, smirking once more as he thought about his brother trying out his new wings, despite Zaci's strict instructions to not do so until they were fully developed.

Not that anyone could blame him; he remembered his own experience when he woke up to a new world, feeling lost and scared. Then Zaci had come, and introduced him to his extraordinary abilities. Sometimes, he asked where the old man had found him and if he had a family or anyone else.

The man had developed a sad frown, looked him in the eye and said that he was his family, along with a young man older than himself, and he accepted that. If he didn't have anyone to care about him, then he would stay with this kind stranger.

Seeing the ground coming closer, he curled himself into a ball and tumbled into the lush, green grass. Laughing softly, he rolled onto his back and enjoyed the feeling of the soft grass.

Its bristles swayed softly with the chilly breeze, brushing his dirty fingers.

He reluctantly got up to his feet, brushed off his blue jeans, straightened his large hoodie and ascended up the stairs and came face-to-face with a beautiful, white door.

Patting down his pockets, he sighed as he realized he had forgotten his key. Again.

"Hey, Zaci! Can you come open the door? I may have misplaced my key. Let me in?" He knocked on the door, suddenly feeling like something was wrong.

Looking through the dark window, his heart sped up a bit. The lights were usually on when he came back from his midnight-flight.

"Micheal? Dude, c'mon. Open the door," But despite his pleas, the door remained shut.

"Zaccheus. I swear, if this is a prank-" His words were cut off by a loud crashing noise.

Going into panic mode, he yanked the door open- finding it surprisingly unlocked- and barged into the living room, scanning the dark room.

A tall shadow suddenly stood up, and he immediately tackled it to the floor.

No one was going to hurt his family without getting through him, first.

Then the lights flicked on, and he found himself staring at his younger brother on the floor underneath him.

"Uhm," Zaccheus said, uncertain, "Happy Birthday, Isaac?"

"Oh, my gosh! Dude! You scared the crap out of me!" He stood up and helped Zaccheus stand as well, giving him a large bear hug once he got to his feet.

"Isaac, calm down. You're crushing the poor boy," Zaci commented, a large smile plastered onto his aged face. His short, curly hair had hints of gray at the top, but he was considered handsome for his age.

"Oh, uh, right. Sorry, Zach," he apologized, clearly embarrassed.

Checking to make sure he did not break or damage his brother, he looked around the room.

Streamers of various colors were strung around everywhere, giving the room a very festive mood. Balloons decorated the carpet, and he noticed the table where his brother was hiding under was tipped over.

That kid was such a clutz.

His older brother, Micheal, was casually leaning against the wall in his usual dress-shirt and jeans. Black wings peeked out from the slits in his shirt, gracefully stretched out slightly, but not to his full wing-span. His short, black hair was neatly swept to one side, not one hair out of place. The grim line on his face showed his displeasure for his younger brothers' immaturity, but the warm amusement in his dark eyes told another story.

He looked down at his younger brother's brown, curly hair that he had recently cut- the same length as Micheal's and also swept to one side but some rebelious curls sticking up. His white wings were growing gradually, but they were still a bit small. His youthful face was gazing wistfully at the large, chocolate cake in the kitchen area.

"Is there any cake?" Isaac asked smirking, his tone amused and carefree.

Micheal turned his dark eyes toward him, "You know, you could try and act your age. You are thirty now, Isaac,"

"Yeah, and you're, what, fifty?" he tossed back.

"I'm thirty-four, not fifty,"

"Could have fooled me. Do I see some gray in your hair?" He walked towards his older brother and playfully ruffled his hair, acting like he was searching for any gray strands.

Zaccheus suddenly stepped in between them with his gangly arms held out, "Did you know that Erwin Griswold was US Solicitor General for 6 years, from 1967 to 1973? During a Senate hearing in 1972, he estimated having argued approximately 100 cases, to-date, in his official capacity. Literature indicates he argued at least 11 more cases while in private practice. Griswold, who was Dean of Harvard University for many years, has been described as having argued more cases before the US Supreme Court than anyone else in the 20th century; however, none of-"

"Alright, fine! Let's have some cake before he makes my head explode," Isaac pushed past his brothers and ran into the kitchen.

He plopped into the kitchen chair, eagerly waiting like a young child for his family to come in so he could eat this delicious cake.

Micheal looked down to raise an eyebrow at his brother's adolescent behavior, but Zaccheus was already running into the kitchen.

He looked over at Zaci, and quietly asked, "So, when are you going to let him. . .-"

But the older man had held up a hand, effectively blocking his question.

"I'll tell him tomorrow. Just let him enjoy his birthday," He slung an arm around his eldest's shoulder and led him into the kitchen.

His work and his "son's" mission could wait until tomorrow.

Right now, he had a cake to enjoy.

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**I hope this was okay. I wanted to write like a background with some happiness in it before I get into the nasty stuff.**

**Name Definitions:**

**Isaac: Laughter.**

**Micheal: Man of God.**

**Zaci: God of fatherhood.**

**Oh, and Zaccheus is Reid. Just a little reminder in case it gets confusing. **

**Thanks for reading and reviews are greatly appreciated!**


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